


Warmth and Security

by meekweek



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Because Warlock doesn't assume right away, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him pronouns for Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands if you squint, Or At Least I Tried, Reunions, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Warlock doesn't have a filter, i dont like shoving my ships into my gen pieces, idk how to work these tags, no beta we die like men, so i decided to leave it out, unless it's canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29786370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meekweek/pseuds/meekweek
Summary: [...]The clerk gave him an uncertain look before handing over the pile of clothes. “Do you just have these laying around?” asked Warlock.Panic seemed to spread across their face. “I- Yes! Of course! Never know when you’ll need them!” he said rather quickly.Warlock raised an eyebrow “Alright?” he mumbled, looking over the light coloured clothes. “Thanks…” He trailed off, suddenly aware of how he had no idea what the clerk’s name was. “Sorry, what’s your name?”“You can call me Mr.Fell.”“Oh,” started Warlock. “like the shop’s name.”Mr.Fell let out an amused chuckle as his eyes began to twinkle. “Yes, like the shop’s name[.]"-Alternatively:Warlock seeks refuge in a bookshop during a downpour and runs into some familiar faces
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Kudos: 32





	Warmth and Security

**Author's Note:**

> I tried proof reading this, but halfway through I decided I didn't want to sit through my bullshit anymore
> 
> Anyways I chucked this into grammarly so hopefully that helped a little?

Annoyed huffs escaped Warlock as he bolted through the streets of Soho, clothes soaked by the rain. “Of course it starts pouring  _ now _ ,” he grumbled, pulling his hood over his head as he ran past a bookshop.

His jacket (which definitely wasn’t waterproof) and jeans clung to him as his eyes darted around, searching for an entrance to the London Underground. “Come on…” he hissed. “I need to get back to the dorms… And out of this rain.”

His university was fairly far away from Soho (he couldn’t quite understand how he had managed to get all the way here), and Warlock didn’t believe he could get back on foot. _ I could always call a taxi. _ He realized after another minute of running.

A smile spread across his face as Warlock swiftly took his phone out from his pocket and dashed past another bookstore.

That smile soon left his face as he noticed his battery was at two percent. _ Crap. _

__ Warlock took to pocketing his phone (the call would end as soon as they picked up anyway) and let himself run for a few more minutes. He searched tirelessly for any entrance to the Underground.

He stopped dead in his tracks as he realized he had come up to a bookshop again.

It was that moment that Warlock realized he had been running in circles.

“For god’s sake,” grumbled Warlock. He stared up at the shop before letting his gaze wander over to the small ‘open’ sign at the door’s window. He wondered if the owner would mind a stranger using their shop to hide out from the rain.

After a moment of contemplation, Warlock decided that a bookshop owner’s scrutinizing gaze would be much better than staying in the rain any longer than he already had been.

As he ascended the small staircase, Warlock took a moment to learn the shop’s name.

_ A.Z. Fell and Co. _

__ He sure hoped whoever A.Z. Fell would be kind (and there was a small part of him who had a feeling they would be).

A bell chimed over his head as Warlock entered the shop. A sudden sense of security washed over him. Not because it was shelter from the rain, but because it felt warm, homey, and… Almost familiar.

Warlock took a step forward and cringed as he felt his socks squish against his toes.  _ Great _ . He thought, lifting his foot to inspect it.  _ Wet socks _ . Grimacing, he looked himself over. He had definitely not been very prepared for London’s gloomy weather when he had moved back after eight years in America and he was currently paying for it with his comfort levels.

With a strained sigh, Warlock removed his hood and shook out excess water droplets from his fingertips. He looked around, hoping that somehow there’d be a towel for him to wipe his hands on.

Unfortunately, he had no such luck.

“Why, hello there.”

Warlock nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice. He whipped around, accidentally sending water droplets from his hair to go flying at some books on display. A person in a beige trench coat (and supposedly the origin of the voice) smiled at him, although it seemed slightly forced.  _ Must be a clerk. _

__ Warlock barely registered the look of recognition on the clerk’s face upon seeing him.

“How may I help you?” they asked, eyes darting towards the books hit with water before returning to Warlock. They seemed to finally realize the teen’s condition and furrowed their eyebrows. “Er, would you like a towel, dear?”

“I…” Warlock looked himself over once more. “If you have one?”

They gave him a kind (and still strained) smile before walking off to what seemed to be the backroom. After a few seconds, they returned with a fluffy white towel.

“That was fast…” remarked Warlock, taking the towel and dabbing it onto his face.

The clerk visibly flinched.

_ Shit did I say something wrong? _ Warlock bit his lip. “I… Sorry. But uh, thank you for the towel. Really needed it.” There was a beat of silence.

“It was no problem, dear boy,” he said, relaxing a little. “Now, what is it you came to my bookshop for?”

Warlock couldn’t help but notice how tense the clerk’s shoulders were. “I, uh…” He did his best to look everywhere  _ but _ at the clerk. “I needed a place to get out of the downpour. I-I hope that’s OK?”

All tension seemed to fade from the clerk at Warlock’s words. “Of course,” he said with a genuine smile (and why did that smile seem so familiar?). “But may I ask, why here and not a coffee shop?”

That... Was an excellent question.

“I don’t know…” Warlock took in the warmth and familiarity of the building, and as he concentrated on it he realized that it may not be the building itself giving off this… Aura (could he call it an aura?), but something inside of it. “It felt safe,” he finally said.

The clerk let out a hum. “And it is safe, dear. Here, let me take your jacket,” they said, hurrying over to Warlock. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay in those damp clothes. I probably have extras…”

The clerk began mumbling to himself and taking Warlock’s coat, but the teen wasn’t listening. This scenario felt… Familiar. An older person worriedly fretting over Warlock and lecturing him about how he’d catch a cold if he stayed in the rain…

This clerk reminded him of Brother Francis.

Warlock felt his heart clench.

He hadn’t seen Brother Francis since his eleventh birthday party, and even then he was only there at the beginning of the day. He had left to go tend to the garden right before that horrid magician arrived… Maybe he already knew how bad the magician was going to be so he left early.

Warlock held back a snort of laughter.

That couldn’t be it. Brother Francis would never try and pull something like that out of fear of hurting someone's feelings…

Probably.

Now that Warlock thought about it, Brother Francis had seemed to be rather close to Nanny Ashteroth, and she was the complete opposite of what the gardener seemed to stand for. Perhaps she became a bad influence on him.

No, she would never speak of world domination with Brother Francis, nonetheless, try to convince him to be impolite. That was reserved for Warlock.

_ Her little Hellspawn. _

Looking back on her time with him, Warlock knew that she had probably been a satanist, but god damn  _ he absolutely did not care _ . She and Brother Francis were practically his parents up until he turned eleven. They would watch over him and play make believe when his parents were either out shopping or working with political figures. (Warlock couldn’t help but grimace at how much worse his parents had gotten at spending time with him after the two had left.) Brother Francis’ eyes would twinkle and Nanny would smile with her strangely sharp teeth whenever they were together. The two took him out for ice cream, read him stories (Brother Francis more than Nanny), and  _ sang to him  _ (Nanny more than Brother Francis). 

They had both resigned on the same day and it had broken his heart.

Ever since then, Warlock had wondered if _ he _ was the reason why they had left. Maybe he had done something wrong and scared them away. Of course, there was a small voice in his head that reassured him that it was something else entirely, but his own insecurities drowned it out.

“Dear, are you alright?”

Warlock was brought out of his thoughts as he looked over at the clerk who now had a stack of clothes in his arms. His eyes were filled with warmth that calmed Warlock almost instantly. “Yeah, I’m fine,” responded Warlock, waving them off. The clerk gave him an uncertain look before handing over the pile of clothes. “Do you just have these laying around?” asked Warlock.

Panic seemed to spread across their face. “I- Yes! Of course! Never know when you’ll need them!” he said rather quickly. 

Warlock raised an eyebrow “Alright?” he mumbled, looking over the light coloured clothes. “Thanks…” He trailed off, suddenly aware of how he had no idea what the clerk’s name was. “Sorry, what’s your name?”

“You can call me Mr.Fell.”

“Oh,” started Warlock. “like the shop’s name.”

Mr.Fell let out an amused chuckle as his eyes began to twinkle. “Yes, like the shop’s name,” he said, (or Warlock supposed it was he taking Mr.Fell was using a masculine honorific… Perhaps he should ask later) placing a hand on Warlock’s back and leading him to what he supposed was the backroom. “You can change in here.”

“Thank you, Mr.Fell,” said Warlock, offering a smile.

“It’s no problem, dear boy,” said Mr.Fell, motioning for Warlock to head into the room. “Now go get changed, I don’t want you getting sick.” Warlock complied with Mr.Fell’s request and changed into the strangely warm clothes.

Warlock couldn’t help but furrow his brow in confusion at the unexpected warmth. Hadn’t Mr.Fell just gotten these clothes from this very room which was admittedly a bit clammy? Where would he have kept them? Warlock wondered, looking at the boxes around him that seemed to only contained books. And how did Mr.Fell have clothes exactly in his size? “What is going on here?”

“Are you alright in there?” Warlock looked up at the sound of Mr.Fell’s voice (and now that he had another chance to hear it without a face to associate it with, he couldn’t help but notice how similar Mr.Fell’s voice was to Brother Francis’).

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered, heading over and opening the door to see Mr.Fell by a bookshelf.

“You look dashing,” he said, his smile never leaving his face.

“Thanks,” said Warlock, walking over to the clerk. “Where did you keep these exactly?”

“In the back room.”

“There were no boxes with clothes in them though.”

“Why,” started Mr.Fell waving his hand, “they’re in there somewhere. Perhaps you just need to look again.” Warlock notched an eyebrow at a sound coming from within the backroom. He couldn’t quite place what it was, but it sounded similar to what you’d hear in a church.

After contemplating it for a moment, Warlock peaked his head into the backroom. He couldn’t help but let his eyes widen at the sight of a box labelled “extra clothes” sitting in plain sight on one of the desks. “That wasn’t there before…” mumbled Warlock.

“Sure it was,” said Mr.Fell, waving Warlock off once more, “lots of things hide in plain sight.” The sound from the backroom played again, but this time it felt more like it came from all around him.

“Did you hear that?” asked Warlock.

“Hear what, dear?”

“That noise-“

“Oh look! The rain has  _ miraculously _ stopped!”

Warlock whipped his head around to look out the window. Sure enough, the clouds had begun to part, and the only sign of the rain that was left were the puddles left on the road. “But-but it was pouring just a second ago,” stated Warlock.

“Well,” started Mr.Fell, clasping his hands together, “weather can be quite weird at times, dear boy.”

Warlock opened his mouth to speak but froze.  _ This won’t get me anywhere. _ He thought, pursing his lips. “I… Now that the rain’s stopped I believe I should get going,” he said, searching for his clothes.

Mr.Fell’s eyes seemed to fill with relief (and a tinge of regret?). “Right, right. Would you like a bag for your clothes?”

“Possibly?” said Warlock, his gaze trailing towards the pile of wet clothes he had accidentally left on the ground. “And when exactly do you want these back?”

Mr.Fell shook his head. “No need to worry about that. Now, I’ll go fetch you a bag,” he said, striding over to a small (and more homey) section of the shop. Warlock watched as Mr.Fell shifted around, opening and closing drawers. “It should be around here somewhere…”

Warlock bit his lip. “It-it’s fine, I can just carry the clothes on my own.”

“Now, Warlock, I won’t have that. You’ll just get your new clothes all damp.” Warlock blinked, Mr.Fell’s words slowly catching up to him.

When had he…

“Ah! Here it is!” There was that damn sound again! “I finally found it!” exclaimed Mr.Fell, holding a beige reusable bag over his head almost as if to showcase it. 

But Warlock wasn’t listening.

Instead, his mind was racing at the fact that he’d never introduced himself, yet this man _ knew his name _ . It wasn’t as if it was a common one either, he had never even heard of anybody named Warlock.

Yet here Mr.Fell was, saying his name as if he’d known it for years.

“Well, here you go, dear boy,” said Mr.Fell, handing Warlock the bag of wet clothes. “I do hope you have a great rest of your day-”

“How do you know my name?”

Mr.Fell seemed to be taken aback. “Your-your name?” he asked, his voice wavering for a moment. “I-I don’t believe I  _ know _ your name-”

“Bullshit,” he hissed, the safety and warmth from the shop now drowned out by his suspicion. “You called me Warlock a few minutes ago.”

A somewhat familiar disapproving frown crossed Mr.Fell’s face. “Now, there’s no need for that type of language.”

Warlock rolled his eyes. “Mr.Fell, please don’t lie to me. Warlock isn’t just something you accidentally call somebody,” he said sternly, not registering the sound of a bell chiming behind him. “so you obviously know who I am. So I’m going to ask again. How. Do. You. Know. My. Name?”

“What the hell is going on here?”

And then there was another familiar voice.

Slowly, Warlock turned around. An annoyed looking figure stood by the door, their hands in their pockets and a single eyebrow raised as they supposedly studied Warlock from behind a pair of sunglasses.

Those sunglasses matched with the figure’s dark aesthetic and red hair was what made everything click into place.

“Nanny?”

They examined him for a moment before their jaw dropped. “Warlock?” she asked, confirming his suspicions. “I- You’ve  _ grown _ .”

Warlock could only stare at Nanny, the cogs in his head churning as he thought over everything once more. His old Nanny, who had left his life  _ eight years ago _ , was standing right in front of him sporting a more masculine look. She (he? They? Warlock might just stick with they for now) had a look of pure shock on their face at the sight of him, obviously not expecting to ever see Warlock ever again. To be fair, Warlock hadn’t expected to see her ever again either, and in a bookshop no less.

Over the years, Nanny Ashteroth had voiced a distaste for reading. “ _ It’s not that I can’t do it, _ ” she had told Warlock when he had so dumbly asked if she was illiterate after she refused to read to him on her first night at the Dowling’s residence. “ _ It’s just I don’t enjoy it as much as some people. _ ” Of course, every now and again Nanny would bring out a book and read to him, but stories were more common with Brother Francis.

_ Brother Francis. _

Warlock let his gaze wander back to Mr.Fell, who he now realized shared more similarities to his old gardener than just his voice. Despite the obvious differences, Mr.Fell’s eyes held the same warmth Brother Francis’ had whenever he taught Warlock to love everything. He had the same light fluffy hair and even similar clothing choices.

As if reading his mind, Mr.Fell let out a defeated sigh. “Come now, you probably have even more questions now that Crowley’s here,” he said practically admitting to who he was. Mr.Fell (Brother Francis?) gestured towards the area he had gotten the reusable bag from.

But that wasn’t what Warlock was focusing on. With a furrowed brow he thought over the word Mr.Fell had just said.  _ Crowley? _ It seemed like a name, and judging by how the new arrival was the only other occupant in the shop, Warlock could only assume he was referring to Nanny.

They gave a sigh. “Go on. Follow Aziraphale,” they said, placing a hand on Warlock’s back to guide him towards Mr.Fell.

_ Azira Fell? _ Wondered Warlock.

“So, uh,” started Warlock, entering the area and sitting down on a cushioned chair, “do you prefer Crowley now?”

From his place on a separate chair, Mr.Fell glanced at Nanny who shrugged. “Been going by Crowley for a long while before I became Ashteroth. But I don’t mind if you call me whatever.” Nanny frowned. “Actually, no. Don’t call me Crawly,” they said, cringing. “That’s the only name I don’t like.”

“Alright, I can work with that,” said Warlock. “And uh, do you still go by she?”

“Eh… At the moment I’m using masculine pronouns,” clarified Nanny.

Warlock nodded and let his gaze shift towards Mr.Fell. “I feel like I know the answer to this, but…”

Mr.Fell smiled. “I typically use masculine pronouns as well. And what about you, dear?”

“He/him is fine,” said Warlock with a nod. “So… Na-Crowley called you Azira Fell earlier?”

“Close, dear. Mr.Fell is… A codename of sorts,” explained Mr.Fell (which wasn’t even his real name?) “You may call me Aziraphale.”

“Azira _ phale _ ,” he repeated. “Right…” Warlock bit his lip. “So, uh… What’s with all these fake identities?” he asked, looking at Aziraphale. “And why do you look so different? Did you get some work done?”

Nanny let out a bark of laughter as Aziraphale’s face almost turned as red as it had been during his time as Brother Francis.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “No, I didn’t get plastic surgery,” he stated. “Brother Francis was just a disguise I put on during my time as your gardener.” Aziraphale glanced back over at Nanny. “As for our names…” Nanny shrugged and motioned for Aziraphale to continue. “We needed these new names and disguises to… Distance ourselves from you after our job was done.” Aziraphale fiddled with his thumbs. “Obviously that didn’t quite work out.”

Warlock furrowed his brows together. “Job? You mean working as our nanny and gardener? Why would you need disguises for that?” There was a beat of silence. “Wait, distance yourselves?”

Nanny pursed his lips, seemingly trying to figure out what to say. “Our main job wasn’t really being your nanny and gardener,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “It was too… Influence you.”

“Influence  _ me _ ?”

“Yes, I thought I already made that clear,” said Nanny.

“Why… Why me?” asked Warlock, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “And-And if you two were working together why were you so… Different?”

Aziraphale and Nanny cast each other strange looks. “Well,” started Aziraphale, repositioning himself. “it may make more sense if we start from the beginning. Six thousand years ago there was a garden-”

“For  _ somebody’s _ sake, Angel,” groaned Nanny. “How many times do I have to tell you  _ not _ to start that early.”

“Starting from the beginning makes it easier to understand!”

“Then give a summarized form!” exclaimed Nanny, waving his hands around as if he were mad. “Something like, ‘an angel and a demon met in the Garden of Eden and they’ve been working together ever since’. You don’t need to go over every decade in full detail.”

Aziraphale let out a huff of annoyance at Nanny’s words as the cogs in Warlock’s brain began to churn.  _ Did Nanny just imply _ …

“Are you trying to tell me that you’re an angel and a demon?” asked Warlock, looking the two over. Their aesthetics certainly matched how Warlock would expect an angel and demon to dress like, but that obviously wasn’t nearly enough proof. “Are you both delusional?” The words had slipped out before Warlock had much time to think them over.

An unamused frown crossed Aziraphale’s face and Nanny chuckled. “You want proof?” asked Nanny with a sly smile, reaching for his sunglasses. Warlock had been able to catch a glance of Nanny’s eyes every now and again while growing up (sunglasses could only cover so much), so he was already aware of how they were an unnatural shade of yellow.

What Warlock wasn’t aware of were his Nanny’s slitted pupils.

“You have cat eyes?” asked Warlock, utterly dumbstruck.

“No,” started Nanny, “Not cat eyesssss.”

_ Oh. _ It took a moment for Warlock to realize why he had hissed. “Snake eyes?”

“There you go,” said Nanny.

Warlock looked into his gaze for a few moments until the bewilderment was replaced by suspicion. “How do I know those aren’t eye contacts?”

Aziraphale let out a sigh as Nanny pinched the bridge of his nose. “Warlock, please don’t tell me you’re a skeptic,” grumbled Nanny.

“No,” started Warlock, biting his lip. “its just that I see a lot of cosplay on the internet, so coloured contacts aren’t a foreign concept to me.”

“Right,” grumbled Nanny. “Cosplay. I’ve heard about that.” Nanny pursed his lips and brought a hand to his chin. “Alright, well…” He hesitated for a moment. “Can coloured contacts do this?” Nanny blinked, and his iris began to spread across his eyes, consuming all the white sclera and becoming  _ much _ more snakelike.

“Woah…” mumbled Warlock.

“Yeah,” mumbled Nanny, seemingly uncomfortable. “Woah, indeed.”

Nanny’s eyes were soon hidden behind his sunglasses once more before Aziraphale spoke up. “Who wants some tea?”

“What?” asked Nanny. “No wine?”

“Crowley, Warlock is a  _ child _ .”

“Actually, I’m nineteen.”

“See!” exclaimed Nanny. “It’s legal for him to drink!”

Aziraphale let out a huff. “Alright, but we can drink later… If Warlock wants to that is,” Aziraphale corrected himself and gave Warlock a small smile. “But for now, I do believe we should have this conversation  _ sober _ . Now, I’ll ask again. Does anybody want tea?”

“Alright,” grumbled Nanny. “I’ll have some.”

“I’ll have some water please,” said Warlock. “Tea was never really my thing.”

Aziraphale gave a nod, and with a snap of his fingers, two cups of tea and a glass of water appeared in front of the three. The angel sent Warlock a look, almost as if he was saying, “here’s my proof that I’m a heavenly being”, but the teen wasn’t paying attention to that. Instead, Warlock was focusing on how he had found the source of that  _ damn sound _ .

“That sound was  _ you _ !” exclaimed Warlock, pointing an accusatory finger at Aziraphale.

“Yes, I do apologize for misleading you earlier,” said Aziraphale, giving a nervous laugh. “Crowley and I… We had originally decided to keep you away from the… Supernatural.”

“Already muddled your life enough thinking you were the anti-christ, didn’t need to screw it up any more than we already had,” added Nanny, taking a sip of his tea.

“Antichrist?” wondered Warlock.

Aziraphale seemed to suddenly find his tea very intriguing as he didn’t dare look up from it. “Yes, well… Like I said earlier, it’s a long story…”

And so, Warlock learned everything. He learned about how he had been swapped at birth, and that he was mistaken for  _ Satan’s son _ (that explained Nanny’s constant talk of crushing everything beneath his heel even more). Warlock learned about how Aziraphale and Nanny had only watched over him to make sure he never ended the world. He learned about Armageddon and how it never happened because of the true antichrist, Adam Young.

As Aziraphale and Na-Crowley continued to explain everything (the angel trailing off every now and again to make a comment about a memory that happened  _ centuries ago _ ), Warlock began to feel worse and worse.

Two of his most cherished people (who weren’t even people) growing up had only taken care of him because they thought he was somebody else. They wasted six years of their lives (granted, that’s barely anything compared to the supposed six thousand years watching over the earth) on Warlock when they could’ve watched over Adam. He was a distraction from their main goal.

If Adam hadn’t turned out the way he had the world would have been  _ fucked _ .

This was much worse than any of his previous insecurities.

“Did I…” Aziraphale and Crowley turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Did I mean anything to you?”

“I- Warlock why would you-” Aziraphale was cut off.

“Oh, I don’t know? Maybe it’s the fact that I was never the antichrist? That I was just some kid you and Crowley watched over because you thought you had to?” he stated.

“Warlock-” started Crowley.

“No. Just…” Warlock stood up, his legs shaking. “Just tell me. What did I mean to the two of you?” Despite clearly asking for their opinions, Warlock didn’t let the two get a word in. “Was I  _ just _ the antichrist to you? Just some kid you’d have to stop if it turns out I didn’t get enough ‘heavenly influence’? Were you-” Dear lord, Warlock didn’t want to know the answer to this, but he was never good at keeping his thoughts to himself.

“Were you prepared to kill me?” Aziraphale flinched at Warlock’s words. “I see.”

So two of the most prominent figures in Warlock’s life had been thinking about killing him? Great.

Wonderful.

Fantastic even.

Warlock let his gaze fall to the floor as Crowley shifted in his seat. “Warlock,” started Crowley, “Aziraphale and I don’t make a habit of befriending humans since we’re… You know.”

“Thanks, I feel so much better,” grumbled Warlock.

The sound of somebody getting up and walking towards Warlock barely processed in his mind before Crowley placed a hand on his shoulder, causing the teen to look up. “I’m not done, hellspawn.” Warlock felt a lump form in his throat at the use of his old nickname. “We don’t tend to get attached to humans, but I believe I speak for both of us when I say that after six years of watching over you, we-we… Ngk, Aziraphale?” 

“Yes, dear?”

“I’m not great at the whole feelings thing,” he explained. “Could you…”

“What Crowley’s trying to say,” continued Aziraphale, earning a relieved sigh from Crowley, “is that we care for you, we really do.” Aziraphale leaned over and placed his hand on Warlock’s free shoulder. “All those years we spent together were wonderful, dear. Reading to you and playing in the garden were the highlights of my day.”

“If they were so wonderful,” started Warlock, shrugging their hands off as tears began to prick at his eyes. “Why were you still willing to kill me?” 

“We never said we were willing to do it,” mumbled Aziraphale, letting his gaze leave Warlock for a moment. “Yes, I won’t deny that the conversation came up around your eleventh birthday due to us both growing fearful…” Ouch. “But we wouldn’t have gone through with it if you were actually the antichrist.”

“Yeah,” added Crowley. “The angel’s too soft. Kept trying to dump killing you and Adam onto me.”

“And Crowley wouldn’t do it because he has a soft spot for kids.” Crowley’s face grew bright red at Aziraphale’s comment.

“I-I-” The angel gave a light chuckle. “Shut up!”

If it weren’t for Warlock’s sniffing, the teen wouldn’t be surprised if the two would have gotten into a light hearted argument that would last hours on end.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale muttered, turning back towards Warlock. His eyes were filled with worry as a handkerchief appeared in his hand, that sounded once again filling the air. “Here,” he said, handing the piece of fabric to Warlock.

“Again, I’m terribly sorry for everything. I-I don’t expect you to forgive us for suddenly leaving… Or-Or for even  _ thinking _ about killing you…” Aziraphale averted his gaze as Warlock slowly took the handkerchief.

“Warlock.” Crowley took his sunglasses off once more to lock his gaze with the teen’s. “We cared about you. Shit, Warlock, we still do.”

An ugly and obnoxious sob escaped Warlock as he finally began to cry. So much had been thrown at him during their short conversation, and he wasn’t quite sure how to process all of it yet.

So he cried.

He cried tears of sorrow over the fact that he had been a distraction. That two in front of him could’ve killed him at any time. That he had been taken away from possibly loving parents.

But he also cried tears of relief.

He cried because his nanny and gardener were  _ right there.  _ They’d apologized, and he was so  _ so _ thankful for their presence.

“Come here, dear,” said Aziraphale, pulling Warlock into a hug. Nuzzling his face into Aziraphale’s beige coat, Warlock let out another sob.

As he was enveloped in Aziraphale’s arms, Warlock realized that the warmth and security that he had felt from the shop had originated from the angel himself.

It didn’t surprise him. He was an angel, of course he made people feel safe, and perhaps his aura is what helped Warlock calm down.

He had no idea how long they stayed like that, but after his sobs began to subside Warlock pulled away from Aziraphale. He tentatively wiped his face with the handkerchief he had been given.

“You feeling better, Hellspawn?” Warlock looked over at Nanny who had one of his arms slung over the teen’s shoulder (when Nanny had joined the hug, Warlock didn’t know).

“I… Not entirely,” Warlock admitted, earning a pitiful look from Aziraphale. “It’s still a lot to take in… But I will be.”

“Splendid,” said Aziraphale with a soft smile.

Another sniff managed to escape Warlock as Nanny looked over at Aziraphale. “Why don’t we go out to St.James Park? Get some ice cream from that vendor?”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Excellent idea! Do you think that’ll help cheer you up?” asked Aziraphale, looking back over at Warlock.

He thought it over for a moment. “Maybe if we can have that wine after.”

Nanny let out an amused laugh as Aziraphale frowned. “I… Fine. I did say we could drink later,” muttered the angel.

“Alright,” started Nanny, removing his arm from its place around Warlock, “let’s go.”

As Warlock let Aziraphale and Nanny lead him to the bookshop’s doors, he felt as if he was a kid again spending time with the gardener and the nanny. The gardener and the nanny who were actually supernatural beings who have been alive for thousands upon thousands of years.

The gardener and nanny who were actually an angel and a demon.

An angel and a demon who cared about Warlock.

**Author's Note:**

> Aw yeah, time to post this fic and then disappear for another half a year.


End file.
